


When In Rome

by AdamantSteve



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Rome - Freeform, UST, mission, nosy old lady
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this prompt from ConcertiGrossi:<br/>They’re not a couple, but there is ALL THE UST. They’re undercover in Rome, and the proprietor of the small hotel they’re staying at refuses to believe they're not a couple. Bonus points if she's a ninetysomething matriarch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When In Rome

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by Dunicha :)  
> I intended for this to get porny at the end but then it did not.

 

 

 

The hotel is TINY. Clint can barely fit through the door without turning and going in sideways. A miniature old lady, ancient, with white hair in a tight bun and warm, rounded features that make her look like she’s smiling even though she seems to be asleep (or dead?! Clint panics for a moment) when they come in, wakes up to greet them, laboriously getting up from her chair to stand behind the desk. Phil talks to her in Italian and she nods, giving Clint a long, knowing look before saying something back. Phil chuckles and shakes his head, but she just winks and says something else. Phil chuckles again and says, “No, no,” gently gesturing with his hand. She nods and gestures towards Clint, a hand up and down as though she’s saying ‘Look at him!’

 

“‘S there a problem?” Clint asks, settling his bag on the ground by his feet. 

“Oh, no it’s just...” Phil shakes his head again and Clint realises he’s blushing. “She thinks we’re dating.” 

The bubble of laughter that comes out of Clint is sharp, and he has to cover his mouth to stifle it, shaking his head at the old lady. She says something else and watches Phil as he translates. “She says that she’s old and she knows these things.” 

 

She nods sagely. “ _Amore_ ,” she says, dragging out the R to sound positively tourist brochure worthy. She waggles a finger and bends down to find something under the counter and Clint and Phil share a look of quiet, blushy embarrassment before she comes back up with a little box with a heart printed on it. “I’m not even gonna ask what that is,” Clint murmurs, and Phil shakes his head again, pushing it back towards her. She raises her voice and insists, pushing it back on him and nodding, gesturing to the heavens. Their voices are rapid and sharp, the clattering of consonants and rolling of lyrical vowels as they argue over how Phil totally wouldn’t date Clint in a million years.

 

Phil’s hand is grasped by hers, heavy gemstone rings clustered on her withered fingers that clunk against the counter as she holds it there. She beckons for Clint to do the same, and notes Phil’s little huff of amused frustration she takes his hand too. She moves them, awkwardly lacing their fingers together as she scolds Phil for not being cooperative. Clint can’t help but grin at her, and whatever she says next has Phil turning to see the smile. Clint squeezes his hand, because all they can really do is play along, be nice to a sweet old lady. Phil swallows and looks back to the woman, who pats their clasped hands and says something else. 

 

She shuffles out from behind the desk, holding the box and their keys and telling them to follow. Phil says something, presumably that they can find their room themselves and there’s no need for her to put herself out - she looks about a million years old after all, but she says something that has Phil ruefully laughing. Clint squeezes his hand again. “What’s the story?” 

They tow along behind the woman through a thin corridor. “She says she has to make sure we don’t stop holding hands.” 

“Oh, of course, _that_ makes sense.”

 

The woman presses the button for the smallest elevator in the world and then the three of them along with their two bags squeeze into it. There are surely only three or four stories to this building but it takes an age to get where they're going. 

“You could just tell her you aren’t gay,” Clint says, quietly pleased at the fact that Phil’s not lessened his grip on his hand even if it is just for show. 

Phil laughs. “I already tried that, she told me off for trying to lie to an old lady.” 

 

The lady’s eyeing Clint as they stand uncomfortably close to one another. She says something to him that he doesn’t understand, and Phil huffs before she glares at him so that he’ll translate. “Sorry, she’s completely convinced we’re a couple.” 

She reaches out and clips Phil behind the ear, making him gasp as she chatters even faster and with hand movements far too big for the tiny space. “She says, ‘You’re both so in love that you’re blind with it.’” He shrugs and looks at what little of the floor is visible between their feet. “Whatever that means.” 

 

The elevator shudders to a halt and slowly opens its doors on another narrow corridor. The lady leads the way again, checking behind her to see that they’re still holding hands. Clint’s kind of enjoying this weirdness, Phil holding his hand and getting yelled at by a crazy old Italian woman, it’s the stuff of good anecdotes, and Phil’s warm, twitching hand in his is pretty nice too.

 

She unlocks the door to one of the rooms and holds it open for them to trail in. For the state of the rest of the place, Clint had thought their room might be small or dirty, but it’s rather beautiful - a great, wide French window that leads onto a small balcony with views over the piazza below, the usual hotel-ish things, a coffee maker, a TV... and one bed. Phil starts to argue about the room, holding up two fingers and saying _‘Due_!’ but she shakes her head and starts walking to the door. Phil’s still holding onto Clint as he trails her to it, insisting, _‘Due! Due!’_ but she just places the key on the desk and presses the little box into Phil’s hand as she closes the door behind her.

 

Phil’s shoulders slump as the door clicks shut. He loosens his fingers in Clint’s, but doesn’t pull away and Clint holds on as he pulls Phil towards the balcony. “So, darling, what’s in the box?” 

 

Phil shakes his head and seems to come back to himself. “Do you really want to know?” he asks, slipping his hand free of Clint’s after all. It leaves him feeling the cool air on his empty hand, which twitches and takes the box from Phil. “Of course I do!” 

 

He opens it as Phil busies himself with their bags and laughs when he sees what’s inside it. “Condoms and lube, how thoughtful.” 

“I’m sorry about all that,” Phil says, straightening up holding a handful of socks.

“It was cute,” Clint replies, closing the little box and placing it on the nightstand. “Plus, who knows, maybe she’s got something.” 

 

Phil stops in his tracks towards the chest of drawers, turning towards Clint and hugging socks against his chest. “What do you mean?” 

Clint shrugs. “Maybe you’ll get lucky. When in Rome...” 

There’s a little huff as Phil turns to put the socks away. Without looking Clint knows they’ll be all lined up horizontally against the left hand side of the drawer, and something about that odd little bit of knowledge pleases him. 

“I don’t know if hooking up with the locals is quite what Logistics had in mind when this mission was planned, Clint.” 

 

Clint lays on the bed and stretches out. “Maybe I didn’t mean a local.”

Suddenly, Phil’s standing up and has his hands on his hips. “Barton, are you trying to flirt with me?” 

Clint purses his lips and shrugs as best he can while he’s laying down. “What if I am? You interested?” He tips his head to the box on the nightstand. “Got supplies.” 

 

There’s a brief flicker of something like hope on Phil’s face that’s quickly clouded over by a frown. “Don’t do that.” 

Clint sits up and swings his legs off the bed. “Do what?” 

“Don’t make fun of me.” He goes back to the bags and starts pulling out tablets and adapter plugs. He’ll start working any minute now and Clint’ll have missed his window.

“Is it really so ridiculous?” he asks.

Phil stills again. “Of course it is.” 

 

Clint comes to sit next to Phil on the floor in front of the bags and pulls Phil’s hand away, grasping it and lacing their fingers back together again. “Do you feel this?” he asks, and what he’s asking he’s not quite sure, because it’s almost like there’s not something to be felt, but more a rightness that’s suddenly there, making something better that he didn’t know was wrong til it was taken away. 

 

“I like you, Phil,” Clint says, and he’s almost pleased with how even it comes out. “I think you like me too.” 

Phil studies their linked hands and nods the tiniest bit.

“So,” Clint says, moving so he can tip Phil’s chin with his fingers and kiss him. He moves easily to Clint’s touch as though he’s in a trance, like if he makes any sudden movements the spell will be broken, but he returns the kiss, and when Clint moans happily at the accidental brush of Phil’s fingertips against his leg he seems to come-to, letting go of his hand to cup Clint’s face instead, til the kiss isn’t Clint kissing Phil, it’s Phil kissing Clint.

 

Heavy breaths fill the room when they break apart, their faces both sliding from surprised blankness into soft grins. 

“That was a good kiss,” Phil says, letting his hand fall from Clint’s cheek to his shoulder.

He nods in reply. “Oh yeah. We should. We should do it again.” 

Phil nods. “Agreed. Good call.” 

Clint grins and cockily says, “Thank you sir,” before Phil leans in to kiss him again. 

 

“So...” Clint says after their second kiss, hands now on Phil’s waist and anchoring him enough to stop him from just barrelling him over. “I’m pretty jetlagged...” 

Phil’s face falls and Clint rushes to stop him from thinking he was trying to brush him off. “So we should maybe take a _nap_.” He winks heavily on that last word and Phil laughs as the tension falls from his features. “A nap?” 

Standing and pulling Phil up after him, Clint nods. “Pretty sure that’s what the _Signorina_ would say.” 

“It’s _Signora_.” 

Clint pushes the jacket off Phil’s shoulders. “ _Signora_ , right.” 

“She was pretty adamant about the nap thing now I come to think of it.” 

“Of course, they have siestas here, right? No...  _riposo_.” 

Phil smiles at him as he loosens his tie, eyes questioning as he reaches for Clint’s belt and then undoing it when Clint nods. “You’re learning.” 

“I picked up a little here and there,” Clint says, the cool thwip of the silk tie sliding out from Phil’s collar a neat punctuation as Phil rucks up his shirt and kisses him again. 

 

 


End file.
